Promises
by Helen C
Summary: Sandy takes Trey and Ryan to lunch—a missing scene for The Brothers Grim.


**Title** : Promises

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : M, for language and adult situations.

**Summary** : Sandy takes Trey and Ryan to lunch—a missing scene for _The Brothers Grim_.

**Spoilers** : Everything up to _The Brothers Grim._

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN** : Huge thanks to Joey51, who beta'd this for me! 

This was written for silverweaver, who wanted to see the missing scene from _The Brothers Grim_ where Sandy takes the Atwood brothers to lunch. I'm not sure this is quite what she had in mind, but this is what came to me.

* * *

**Promises**

Helen C.

Sandy drives through the streets of Chino, wondering whether or not he should break the silence that has settled in the car.

Ryan hasn't said a word since he gave Sandy the address of the nearest diner, and for some reason, hearing the name of the street made Trey blink in surprise. Sandy hasn't asked for an explanation, but he supposes this place is part of the Atwood family history—a history he knows very little about.

The streets are so quiet that most of Sandy's attention is focused on the two silent boys with him, instead of on the road.

He has to admit that he's curious about what Ryan thinks, and about Trey.

After all, all he knows about Trey is that he convinced his little brother to steal a car with him, that he has a history of drug addiction and of violent behavior, and that he was carrying a weapon the night he was arrested.

He also knows that Ryan came to visit him last Thanksgiving, and came home with a shiner and no good explanation.

Thinking about Trey's file almost makes Sandy second-guess his decision to come here today, but after all this time, Sandy knows better than to judge anyone by a legal file. After all, if he had listened to what Ryan's social worker told him when he decided to become his guardian, Ryan would be in a very different place today.

It seems a little ridiculous to think that he has never met Trey—Trey, who has had, indirectly, such an impact on the Cohen family.

Without Trey, Sandy probably wouldn't have met Ryan, and every time he tries to think about all the things that would have turned out differently if Ryan hadn't entered his life, Sandy's mind freezes. It's just too much to think about, and Sandy doesn't like imagining his life without Ryan anymore, doesn't want to think about all the good things he would have missed if the kid hadn't accepted his offer for help.

Trey is tapping his foot nervously, watching the scenery through the window, perhaps trying to remember what he was doing the last time he walked past this store, past this bar, past this building.

Sandy wishes he could get into Trey's head, so he'd know for sure what Trey is thinking about, right this minute.

And he wishes even more that he could get inside Ryan's head, because Sandy can't read him at all and it's slightly unnerving. He feels like, all of a sudden, he has lost all the keys he had carefully gathered over the months, all the little signs that Ryan gave him that allowed him to read between the lines, to hear what Ryan wasn't saying.

He needs these keys, he needs to know what Ryan wants to do, and the kid isn't giving anything away. Ryan seems both scared of Trey, and genuinely happy to see him, tentative and eager all at the same time, and Sandy isn't quite sure what to make of that.

Is Ryan hesitant to accept Sandy's help simply because he thinks that the Cohens already have already done a lot for him, and he doesn't want to ask them for more? Sandy knows quite well that it's a possibility, that Ryan spends too much time and energy feeling both grateful and unworthy of the help he's given.

But then it's also possible that Ryan has more serious reasons to want Trey away from Newport—reasons that Sandy can't even start to guess, given how little he knows about Trey, and about the Atwood family.

It's a good thing, Sandy thinks, that the three of them are going to spend more time together—perhaps, that way, he'll finally have a clue about what the hell he has to do now.

In the meantime, he'll give Trey the benefit of the doubt, because he's obviously important to Ryan, and because…

Because, and he never said so to Ryan, and probably never will, but once, about three months after Ryan's arrival in Newport, the kid got sick, and ran a slight fever for two days. As he was checking on him one night, Sandy found Ryan tossing on his bed, fighting… well, Sandy doesn't know what or who Ryan was fighting, and as always with Ryan, he's not sure he wants to know.

What he does know, is that Ryan called out for Trey, several times, then calmed down.

Sandy has never asked Ryan about it. Ryan doesn't talk about his family, ever, and back then, Sandy didn't want to push, and later…well, later; it became easier to pretend that Ryan's family didn't exist—had never made that kid's life a living hell.

Sandy was doing well, living in denial. Until last night.

He has come to terms with the fact that he'll never be able to totally shield Ryan from his family a long time ago—he knows the kid, knows his loyalty, and knows that Ryan will always worry about his blood family, will always wonder if they're doing well and if they still love him.

Sandy can't, in good conscience, prevent him from seeing them.

There was just no way they weren't going to come here today, no way he could have told Ryan, "You are not missing school to go see your brother take his first steps as a free man in more than a year."

And there's no way he'll refuse to help Trey, because without help, Trey will end up back in jail eventually, and Sandy refuses to see Ryan get hurt again. He doesn't want Ryan to wonder, somewhere down the line, if Trey would have been able to build a better life for himself, if only he'd had help.

"Nice car," Trey says, gesturing vaguely around.

Sandy's so lost in his thoughts that he almost starts at the sudden noise. He can't help but notice a difference between the brothers—Trey is louder than Ryan. Not that he talks more, if the ten minutes he just spent saying nothing at all are any indication, but he speaks loudly, demanding attention, whereas Ryan tends talk softly, forcing people to pay attention to him, to strain to listen to him.

_Interesting_, Sandy thinks, acknowledging the comment with a nod. "Thanks."

He hears Trey shuffle in his seat, and Sandy looks briefly to his right, where Ryan is slumped in his seat, staring outside, as he often does whenever he's in a car.

"Hey, bro'," Trey calls, his voice softer.

Sandy fixes his attention back to the road, but not before he has seen Ryan blink, as if emerging from a dream.

"Yeah," Ryan says.

"Still not talkative, huh?"

Sandy spots a shrug in his peripheral vision, and says brightly, "Oh, he's getting better, but of course, after a few months surrounded by Cohens, that was to be expected."

"Seth rubs off," Ryan offers.

"Seth's my son," Sandy adds for Trey's benefit.

He almost said, "my other son," but he's not sure how Trey would have taken that.

"Yeah, well, sometimes, someone has to pick up the slack and do the talking when Ry is around."

Sandy smiles. "After sixteen years of Seth's ramblings, I don't mind the silence sometimes," he says.

"I'll remember that," Ryan throws in. "Next time you try to have a talk."

Trey snickers and Sandy keeps smiling, glad that the tension in the car seems to have abated somewhat.

… … … … …

One day, when he was fourteen, Ryan saw a man get shot.

He was at a party, in a bad part of town, smoking pot on the front porch of the house, waiting for Trey to finish with whichever girl he was doing.

It wasn't safe to be home, that night, even though Ryan doesn't remember why—probably, the boyfriend of the moment was of the violent-when-drunk kind, but Ryan doesn't really remember the ones who "merely" slapped him, or pushed him around a little. There were just too many of them, and Ryan can't match their faces with their names anymore. He only remembers the AJs now—the ones who truly hurt him, who really scared him.

He does remember that when he was fourteen, Dawn met a guy named Francis. Then another named Tom. He also remembers that neither one of them were particularly friendly with kids. Most of that year is a blur, though—this was the year when Ryan started to drink and to do drugs; most of his memories are hazy and distant, and he likes them that way.

Even his memories of that horrible night are imprecise. There were a lot of people around, laughing, dancing, drinking and smoking, and all the agitation added to the effect of the weed, and the alcohol he had drunk was making Ryan lightheaded, distorting his vision and making the noises sound, in turns, unnaturally muffled, then too loud.

The noise of the first shot was of the muffled kind and Ryan thought vaguely that someone had lit a firework.

People around him scattered in all directions, moving impossibly fast, as if someone had hit the fast-forward button, and Ryan rose to his feet dizzily. Then, the second shot rang, the noise so loud that Ryan thought a car, or even a house, had exploded. He covered his ears, crying out.

He never heard shots three and four.

He was knocked to the ground, a dead weight landing upon him.

He doesn't really remember what happened after that. He has a few fragmented memories, pieces that don't really reassemble into anything coherent. He remembers seeing blood on his hands, he remembers the weight lifting up from him, then he remembers Trey's concerned face.

He remembers, a little more clearly, that he threw up on Arturo's shoes, and he's fairly sure that at some point, Theresa rubbed his back and whispered that he was going to be all right, and that he replied, "I know. I'm just dizzy."

Then, he remembers, he laughed.

The next day, Trey explained to him that the guy who had been shot had fallen on him, that it had been his blood on Ryan's hands, and that Arturo had gotten him away before the cops could arrive, and realize that fourteen-year-old Ryan was stoned and drunk.

"And for fuck's sake, Ryan, next time there's a shooting, get down, will you," Trey concluded, before leaving a bewildered Ryan sitting on Theresa's couch, hung over and still dizzy.

Later that day, when Ryan took a shower and caught a look of himself in the mirror, he noticed a scratch on his forehead, and wondered where it had come from. He hoped it was glass, because if it wasn't, then, that meant that probably, a bullet had gotten a lot too close to him for comfort.

A few days later, he asked Arturo if he remembered whether Ryan had been next to any window when the shooting had happened.

"I don't think so, why?" Arturo had replied.

"Nothing."

And Ryan had gone home, and been sick again, and spent the evening convincing himself that he had cut himself falling down, or while Arturo was leading him away, or… or anything, but.

He started to think a lot about death, then.

He started to pay attention to stories around him—stories about people OD'ing, stories about people offing themselves, stories about people going to prison and getting killed in there, stories about people getting shot by cops, or by dealers, or by accident.

Some of these stories, he believed, were nothing but urban legends.

But some of them rang true, and Ryan started to study his own life, and that of his friends, as if he were a stranger looking in from the outside.

What he saw scared him.

He had always known that his family wasn't normal, that not everyone lived like they did.

He had never really thought about what it would mean, in the long run.

About what the risks were.

"What do you think our chances are of surviving until we reach, say, thirty?" he asked Theresa once.

Theresa, of course, was horrified and refused to answer.

Ryan briefly toyed with the idea of calculating probabilities, but he didn't know how to do that, wasn't sure what kind of things he should factor in anyway, and didn't know who he could ask, so he forgot about it.

Then, Arturo, Trey and Eddie started bringing home cars that stayed there a couple of days, never more, before disappearing.

Ryan didn't ask questions, and neither did Theresa.

One night, as he and Theresa were drinking a milkshake and walking down the street, she said, softly, "Not good, I think."

Ryan, who was thinking about whether or not he was going to sign up for soccer that year, looked at her, surprised. "What?'"

"Our chances of surviving for a long time. Well, I don't know about the two of us, but Trey, and Turo, and Eddie… I don't know. It's dangerous what they do. Stupid."

"Yeah."

"So, I don't know about them. I don't like thinking about that."

Neither did Ryan, so he tried not to pay attention to the nagging feeling of unease whenever Trey came home bruised, whenever Trey was on an adrenaline high, from something he refused to talk about.

But as Sandy drives past his old school, Ryan can't help thinking about this discussion again, and rubs his arms in reaction.

He always gets chilled when he thinks about that.

Arturo is in jail, Ryan hasn't heard from Eddie in months, and god only knows where Dawn is, and if she's even still alive.

Trey's out, and Ryan doesn't know how long his brother will last this time before he goes back to stealing stuff.

He hates that lack of money has reduced his family to this.

When he looks at his brother, he finds himself wondering how long it'll be before Trey screws up again, and he hates himself for it.

Trey's his brother.

Ryan should stick by him, because if he doesn't, if even Ryan is convinced that his brother doesn't have a chance of leaving all this behind, then what chance does Trey have of succeeding?

Ryan wants his brother to live a long, long time.

He wants to have kids someday, and he wants Trey to be part of their lives.

He wants his brother in his life; he wants his brother to get better, to enjoy himself, to be proud of himself.

He wishes Trey could have a good chance at cleaning up his act, but he knows things aren't so simple. Ryan was sixteen when Sandy found him, and it was already almost too late for him to go back to school and have a chance at graduating.

Trey barely finished high school, and he's an ex-convict. What kind of job can he hope to find?

It's unfair, but sometimes Ryan understands why Trey does what he does.

Ryan remembers well what it feels like to be trapped in a situation with virtually no way out, and he knows it'll be worse for Trey than it was for him.

Sandy's hand on his shoulder startles him. "You ok?"

Ryan nods, and finally notices that the car has stopped in front of the diner. "Sorry," he says, smiling nervously.

"No problem," Sandy replies.

Ryan fumbles with his seatbelt, then with the door handle, and avoids his brother's eyes as he finally extricates himself from the car. He feels like he has two left feet suddenly, and he doesn't need Trey to smirk at him and ask if he needs help staying upright.

The three of them enter the diner, find an empty table and sit down. Sandy is still smiling sympathetically, Trey still looks relieved and elated to be out, and Ryan wishes he could relax and enjoy the moment, instead of feeling torn and scared of the future.

"It's good to be out," Trey says.

"I can imagine," Sandy replies, while Ryan studies his surroundings.

There's no way for Sandy to know that, but this is the place where Dawn took him and Trey, the last two times Trey got out of jail. Ryan thought it would be a good idea to come here, to respect one of the few family traditions they have, but now that they're here, he suddenly has doubts.

The last two times Trey got out of jail weren't the _last_ times he got out, and Ryan's superstitious side wonders if this is a bad omen.

He looks around, catches the waitress's eyes and looks away quickly.

The three of them look, he knows, exactly like what they are.

A lawyer and his two clients sharing a meal.

"I'm not sure yet," Trey is telling Sandy, "I guess I'll go see on the construction sites, see if someone will want me. Garages are out of the question, I think."

He smiles wryly at Sandy then shoots a look at Ryan, who grimaces. "I'm sure you'll find something," he offers, hoping he sounds more convincing than he feels.

"Yeah," Trey says, sighing. "Not like I got much of a choice anyway."

"Well," Sandy says, "If you can't find anything, we'll figure something out."

"You don't need to do that," Trey protests. Ryan wishes he could tell him that it's a lost cause, that Sandy will help no matter what, but he gives up. Trey will realize it soon enough. "I mean, you were nice already to come get me. I'd hate taking the bus out of jail; people always look at you funny."

"Don't mention it. Anything for Ryan and his family."

Ryan isn't sure how he feels about that, so he smiles—he has learned, this year, that people always consider a smile as an acceptable answer, so he has been using this newfound knowledge in a lot of situations.

"Well, thanks, then," Trey says. "I guess I'm lucky Ryan got you as a lawyer."

"I consider myself lucky I was assigned his case, too," Sandy says sincerely.

This discussion feels weird, forced, awkward, rehearsed, and Ryan wishes he could have had a few more days to get used to the idea that Trey was being released, wishes he could extricate himself from the situation, wishes he could be sure Trey won't abuse the Cohens' trust, wishes he could be glad that his brother's free, instead of being so conflicted, so unsure.

… … … … …

Trey can't, for the life of him, figure out what this Mr. Cohen is all about.

He had already been surprised when he'd heard from Dawn that Ryan had been taken in by his lawyer—_What is it_? he'd thought. _A fucking Lifetime movie of some kind_?

What kind of people take in a teenager they don't even know?

In Trey's world, the answer to that was obvious, and he spent two months worrying, until he saw Ryan again at Thanksgiving, and could check for himself that Ryan was doing well—probably better than Trey had ever seen him.

Trey had seen Ryan whenever one of Dawn's boyfriends tried to get a little too close, and there had been no sign of this at Thanksgiving.

If Ryan was wary of anything, it was of Trey—because, obviously, the younger Atwood was sharp, and he knew that Trey wasn't big on family and holidays. Ryan had certainly known that Trey would ask him to do something stupid and dangerous before he even set a foot in the prison. And he'd still done what Trey had asked, for which Trey was pathetically grateful and unbelievably angry.

It wasn't fair that he was reduced to asking his baby brother to clean up his messes.

It wasn't fair that he had to ask Ryan to jeopardize his new life, his probation.

It wasn't fair that he had to ask Ryan to risk his life.

And he had still done it because Trey's life had never been fair, and complaining about it had never helped, and he knew that Ryan was well aware of all that.

He wonders what Ryan thinks Trey will ask him to do now.

He wishes he could tell his brother not to worry, that he doesn't plan on asking for anything, but he knows how hard such a promise would be to keep.

Ryan is staring off into space again, eating his burger in silence, while Mr. Cohen keeps looking at Trey and Ryan, as if trying to guess what the two brothers have in common, and probably recognizing that they're as different as night and day.

_Don't worry_, Trey wants to tell him.

_You didn't make a mistake when you invited Ryan into your home._

_You did, indeed, save the good Atwood—the one who's able to work for something, the one who isn't afraid of trying, the one who still has it in him to trust people, even if it takes him a long time._

_The one who has it in him to be a good man, eventually, if he can ever move on past what our father, and Dawn, and her fucked-up boyfriends, and, yes, even I, did to him._

But something in the way that lawyer looks at Ryan tells Trey that he has already figured it out.

_Good_, he thinks.

About fucking time someone gave a damn about Ryan, about fucking time someone gave him a chance at a normal life, about fucking time a responsible adult took it upon himself to try and save at least a little part of the messy Atwood family.

The silence is stretching, engulfing them, and that's different from the last times Trey was sprung.

He can still remember very clearly the scene Dawn made, in this diner, the first time Trey got out of Juvie.

"Just like your father, always screwing up, what am I going to do with you anyway?"

"I don't know, ma," Trey had answered. "Nothing I guess. That's what you usually do, isn't it? Nothing…"

"Guys," Ryan had said, looking around nervously. The kid had a cut on his left cheek, Trey remembers that. It looked new, and painful, and it should probably have been stitched, but it hadn't been.

"What?" Dawn had spat. "Worried these people will know what kind of family I have? One in jail, and the other suspended from school." She had risen to her feet, walked unsteadily to the bathroom, and Trey had known then that she was going to sniff coke and come back wasted.

"You got suspended?" Trey had asked, and Ryan had glared, as if to say, "You're one to talk."

And sadly, Ryan had a point.

Trey was hardly the ideal role model, he could admit it.

"Ry…"

"Don't, ok," Ryan had snapped. "Bad enough that I'm stuck at home with her."

"She got laid off again?" Trey had asked, feeling guilty. He hadn't known any of that.

"She's using again, of course she got laid off," Ryan had griped.

"I'm sorry, kid," he'd said.

And he had been very sorry, because Ryan hadn't been that angry, that bitter, before Trey had been sent away.

"Just…" Ryan had rubbed his eyes then, looking exhausted and scared, the anger gone as quickly as it had come. "Just don't get locked up again, ok? I need back up, man."

"Yeah. I'll try," he'd said.

Ryan had looked at him soberly, and Trey had amended, "Promise."

Ryan had smiled that small, sad smile he always used whenever they talked about their family, and Trey had vowed to himself that he'd never go to jail again, if only because Ryan had been disappointed enough.

Of course, he hadn't kept that promise.

Trey had never been good at keeping promises—so, eventually, he stopped promising.

Ryan is staring blankly at the food that's left on his plate, and suddenly, Trey wants to hear his brother's voice—he hasn't seen him in more than a year, he has missed him, and he wants to hear him say something, anything. Perhaps, then, Dawn's voice will fade away.

He asks the first question that goes through his mind. "Have you heard from Ma recently?"

Ryan startles, puts his burger down, shaking his head. "Not since last Chrismukkah."

"Chrismuwhat?"

Ryan groans, actually blushes—interesting, Trey had never seen him blush before—looks at Mr. Cohen. "Please, don't tell him I said that," he says. "He'll get out of control."

Mr. Cohen laughs, the first real laugh Trey has heard from the man, and it surprises him to see how well laughter fits his face. He hasn't seen or heard an honest laugh in months, and he hadn't realized before how much he missed it.

"Agreed," Mr. Cohen says.

Ryan turns back to Trey. "Seth invented a holiday—a mix of Christmas and Hanukah. He says it'll sweep the nation, or something."

"He may be right," Mr. Cohen throws in. "After all, it has only been two years, and here you are, using the name without even thinking about it."

Ryan groans again. "Promise?"

"Yes, yes…"

For a second, the three men relax slightly, and the clouds that had started to gather at the mention of Dawn's name dissipate. Then, Ryan turns serious again, and Trey could kick himself for not thinking before speaking.

He gave up on Dawn years ago, but Ryan didn't, and Trey has seen first-hand how close it came to destroying Ryan, this constant hoping, these constant disappointments.

"You?" Ryan asks.

"Sorry," he says. And he is. He wanted to make Ryan talk, not to remind him of how fucked up things were. "You… how's school?" he asks lamely, mostly to change the subject before someone gets hurt, even though it's probably too late.

"Good. It's, you know… school."

Mr. Cohen raises an eyebrow. "A very demanding school, in which Ryan is doing incredibly well, actually."

"Good for you," Trey says.

Ryan shrugs. "It's high school. It sucks," he points out, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry, I know it's… expensive; but…"

"But you're a teenager forced to go to school, yes." Mr. Cohen reaches over to pat his shoulder, and Trey notices that Ryan doesn't flinch, doesn't pull back, doesn't even look wary.

If he had any doubts about this guy, they're gone by now.

He wonders how long it took Sandy Cohen to convince Ryan that he wouldn't casually backhand him at the first sign of trouble, before deciding that he's probably better off not knowing.

"Sorry," Ryan says. "How about you?" he asks then, picking up a fry before dropping it back in his plate and reaching for his drink instead.

"I tried to learn a little woodwork," Trey says, and looks on, amused, as Ryan chokes on his drink. "Yeah, I knew you'd like that one."

"Sorry," Ryan says, flushed, biting his lip. "Just…"

"I suck with my hands, yeah."

"Yeah."

"Although the ladies don't complain," Trey adds in a cocky tone. "You know how the Atwood's skills are praised in Chino."

Ryan blushes again, hissing, "Not in front of Sandy, Trey…"

Mr. Cohen looks enormously entertained, though, and Trey briefly considers continuing to tease Ryan, but decides against it.

"You finished?" Mr. Cohen asks, gesturing to Ryan's mostly empty plate.

"Yeah, sorry. Not hungry."

"No problem," Mr. Cohen replies. Trey wonders if that guy considers anything to be a problem, given how laid-back he seems.

Too soon, they're back in the car, heading to Rick's brother's house, and the car is silent again, giving Trey yet another opportunity to think.

If he's honest with himself, Trey has to admit that envies his brother.

Someone came in and saved him before it was too late.

Trey is only twenty, and he knows his life is screwed already. Arturo and Ryan, would tell him he's always been pessimist, but Trey calls it being realistic, and realistically, chances are he'll be back in jail before the year is over.

He's fresh out of jail, his only skills will only land him back there if he uses them, and he'll be stuck doing thankless, mind-numbing jobs for the rest of his life.

And he can't even be mad at Ryan for escaping that kind of life. God knows, the kid deserved a break.

Simply, Trey wishes he'd been able to catch one too, before he kissed his last chance good bye.

And the bitch of it is, he knows Ryan probably isn't even enjoying it—the kid is too honest for his own good, and he's probably feeling unworthy of the help the Cohens offered him, unworthy of the chance he was freely given.

Trey wishes he could beat some sense into him.

Come to think of it, he probably will, if he's ever allowed an un-chaperoned visit.

In the meantime, he needs to prepare for the rest of his life.

He refrains from sighing when the car turns a corner and he spots the house where he'll stay until he can find a place of his own.

The house if rundown and dirty, but then, this is Chino, and this is Rick's family, and he wasn't expecting anything else.

He gets out of the car and Ryan follows, head down. "Good to see you," Ryan offers almost hesitantly.

He seems reluctant to leave Trey here, and Trey is sure he'd be just as reluctant to bring him back to Newport with him, and again, he feels a little angry, because he knows that Ryan is right, that he'd probably screw things up for both of them in this shiny and wealthy environment.

"Take care of yourself," Trey replies.

"Yeah."

They share a brief, tentative hug, which reminds Trey, yet again, that his brother isn't a part of his everyday life anymore.

Ryan seems more awkward with him than with his lawyer/guardian, and that makes Trey want to punch something.

"Thanks again for the lunch, Mister Cohen," Trey says, politely, because punching things wouldn't be a good idea right now. Maybe later, when he's alone, but not now.

"Take care."

"I'll call you," Ryan offers.

Trey nods and makes for the house, feeling Ryan's eyes on his back as he approaches the door, knocks, checks the windows when no one answers.

He almost wishes Ryan and his lawyer would have driven away, so they won't see him trying to enter a house where he's obviously not as welcome as he thought he would be.

He should have had a backup plan, should have remembered that his friends aren't dependable.

Ryan's voice startles him. "Hey, Trey, wanna come with us?"

He briefly hesitates, before realizing he has no choice.

He needs a place to crash for a while, and he can't sleep on the streets.

So he goes back to the car, still clutching the box containing his few belongings, and sits on the backseat.

As he closes the car door behind him, Trey promises himself that he won't disappoint Ryan again, because he can't stand it when the kid looks at him with his wounded eyes, especially when it's deserved, and that he will make a better life for himself, even if it kills him, because there's no way in hell he'll end up like his father.

Now, all he has to do is not screw up.

_Considering the Atwood luck_, he thinks, _it should be a piece of cake_.

FIN


End file.
